I'm Coming Home
by mywarisalreadywon
Summary: AU Jess doesn't die, there are lots of feels and I hope y'all will forgive me if I make you cry with this. It's kinda character death, but not at the same time...I don't really know how to tell you this without giving it all away.


**So, I came up with this idea and I was crying as I was writing it because feels. Anyway, I love it and I hope y'all can forgive me for making you cry (if you cry). It's an AU, too, in case you don't get that. Listen to the song Heaven Was Needing a Hero by Jo Dee Messina and that's the kind of emotion I was channeling into this.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>When Sam woke up on May 18th 2008, he didn't get any weird feelings. He didn't feel the world turn cold or anything like that. He just lay in bed with his beautiful wife, Jess, and listened to their two children getting up and dressed for school. Everything was perfect in his world. He had graduated early and was now working at a large law firm nearby. It wasn't until they finished dinner and he and Jess were sitting on the porch watching their kids playing in the yard that he got a bad feeling. He saw a car pull up near the driveway and park. He immediately sat up straighter, because you can take the boy out of hunting, but you can't take the hyperawareness and need to protect his family out of the boy. He watched as two men got out, both wearing marine dress uniforms. The taller one stopped just short of the porch, and Sam walked to meet him, the two small children coming to stand behind him.<p>

"Can I help you?" Sam asked.

"Are you Sam Winchester?" the taller man asked.

"Yes." Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what was going on.

"I'm Staff Sergeant Louis Manns, and I regret having to tell you this." The man's voice got a little choked sounding.

"Jess, take Bobby and Deanna inside," Sam said, the bad feeling worsening. Jess picked up the little girl and the littler boy and quickly went inside.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded. The second marine stepped up to Manns and handed him a /triangular box before stepping back. Manns turned to Sam and held out the box to him. Sam took the *-*window box and saw the folded up American flag inside. The small gold plaque at the bottom read: _Sergeant Dean Eric Winchester January 24__th__ 1979 – May 18__th__ 2008_. In the box lying on the flag was a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart.

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

"Your brother was a good friend of mine, and a good man. He was killed in action at around 12:30 this morning. I wish I could say that we're bringing him home, but there's not much left to bury." Manns put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"He was the greatest man I ever knew, and I've known a lot of men. He talked about you all the time; he was so proud. I can bring his stuff from the base here, and I have a key to his apartment for you." Sam nodded, not quite coming to terms with what he was hearing.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until a month later, when Sam had stopped staring at the flag now resting on the mantel over the fireplace and praying for there to have been some mistake, that he finally had gotten the courage to go to Dean's apartment. As soon as he stepped into the main room, he knew it was Dean's. The bookshelf, although it was a little small, was filled with lore books and Vonnegut and Tolkien. There was a picture of Mary on the desk, sitting under the lamp. There was a picture on the wall of Dean with Pastor Jim, but it wasn't the Dean Sam remembered. This Dean had tattoos on his arms, dates and names and bands and some, if Sam was right, elvish runes from Lord of the Rings and even some Latin phrases. The DVDs under the television were Star Trek, Die Hard, Lord of the Rings, Lethal Weapon, Terminator, and the like. Dean's leather jacket and boots were in the closet, along with a couple duffle bags of salt, shotgun shells, holy water, and lighter fluid. Sam picked up a sweatshirt, one he recognized as his own, and hugged it, Dean's scent still lingering in the soft fabric. Dean's cassette tape collection, along with a 'new' record player and record collection, sat near the TV. Sam found a set of keys on the counter that he recognized as the keys to the Impala and a key to something else. The key had the name of a storage locker company on it, so Sam called up a friend to find out what number Dean had. Then he sat on the couch and hugged the sweatshirt a little more, trying to memorize the scent of his elder brother and trying not to imagine what he had been told about Dean's death. His brother had pushed a teammate out of the way of a landmine, saving him, and had yelled for the rest of the men nearby to run back the way they came. The men had followed the order he had given and it ended up saving about fifteen men. His brother died a hero, they told him. As Sam lay on his deceased brother's couch, clutching a sweatshirt just because it smelled like him, Sam sobbed for his brother who had always been a hero, but had just had to die for that to be recognized.<p>

* * *

><p>After pulling himself together and finding the locker, Sam opened the massive door to find a large object covered in a blue tarp. Knowing what was there and not even noticing the tears running down his face, Sam pulled back the tarp to find the beautiful, if a little dusty, '67 Chevy Impala. Sam broke down, leaning his head against her driver's side door, when he remembered all the good times that he had had in this car, times that he would never have again. His sobs were renewed when he remembered that Dean would never again drive her, never blast his music and sing along obnoxiously just to make Sam smile, never grin and laugh as he tuned her up or talk so softly and sweetly to her as he fixed little scratches and dents. After pulling himself together again, Sam opened the door to find an envelope with his name on it. He grabbed the letter and ripped it open. Dean's blocky-but-sort-of-elegant handwriting filled the paper.<p>

_Sammy,_

_If you're reading this, I'm not coming home. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I left the life behind and joined the corps. If I had, maybe I wouldn't miss you so much. This is gonna be a chick-flick moment, so I'm just gonna go with it and if you never see this, well, no harm, no foul. I stood up to Dad. I know you always wanted me to do that, and I did, for you. I wanted to make you proud, you know? Like how I'm proud of you._ _I hope you found everything you were looking for. I know about Jess, and, for what it's worth, you have my blessing. Partially because I know Dad will never give it. And Baby, well, she's all yours now. Everything inside her, give it to Bobby if you don't want it. Same with the rest of my stuff. Dude, I just want to tell you, before you get rid of my tapes, almost all of them were Mom's. I don't know why I didn't tell you that earlier, but she was the one who liked classic rock._

_ If you can make up with Dad, do it, for me. He doesn't know about what I did either, he just thinks I left. I didn't tell anyone what I was doing. I did call Jim when I could, but he can't tell you about that because of sinner-priest confidentiality. Sammy, I'm gonna say it here, because if I don't make it back, I won't have another chance: I love you. There, I said it. You're the best little brother ever. You know something? You inspire me. I want you to know that. I know you've always looked up to me, but you inspire me, and you've always brought out the best in me. Sometimes, I'll look back at myself on some of my hunts, and I don't recognize myself. I'm happiest when it's just the two of us goofing off, and that right there, that's me at my best. I know I'm rambling a bit now, but this is stuff I want you to know. Also, one tape you _have_ to keep is my Zeppelin IV. That's my favorite one, so you gotta keep it. _

_If I'm really gone, and you're really reading this, I'm gonna miss you, Sammy, I really am. I'll tell Mom that you're okay though. The two of us will just wait here, but, for us, make sure it's a long time from now. _

_Dean_

_P.S. – Take care of my car, or I'll haunt your ass. _

Sam put down the letter and rubbed the tears off of his face, missing his big brother more than words could describe. He laid down on the bench seat, hugging himself and just letting the familiarity of the car comfort him.

* * *

><p>Sam had Dean buried in Lawrence, right beside their mother. It was ironic; because both of Sam's deceased family members had empty coffins. Dean's grave was marked with a simple headstone, with Dean's name, birthdate and death date, and a quote, which Sam felt summed up Dean's existence pretty well: "Don't Fear The Reaper". Blue Ӧyster Cult always was one of Dean's favorites. Sam walked up to the grave, a leather chord with a small golden head dangling from it now hanging around his neck. He fingered the amulet that he had found in one of the duffle bags that Dean had taken overseas. He sat down on the grass nearby, letting the gentle breeze ruffle his hair.<p>

"I know you aren't even buried here," Sam said aloud, speaking to no one in particular. He was glad no one was here today. Ever since people found out that Dean Winchester was coming back to Kansas, they had been stopping by. Mostly it was old neighbors or friends of their parents, and they meant well, but Sam was glad to be alone with his thoughts.

"But this is better than nothing, right?" he continued. He sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to work out what he wanted to say.

"I miss you, Dean. I miss you so much it hurts." If Sam closed his eyes, he could pretend Dean was sitting beside him, listening in silence. He also though that he caught the scent of motor oil and leather, the scent of Dean, but it was gone so fast that it must have been imagined.

"I'm sorry I didn't…I wish I…I should have…damn," Sam sighed. "Okay, if I could go back in time and call you after I left, I would. I never should have cut you out like I did. I mean, after everything you've done for me, I just walked away, and I'm so sorry, Dean. Sam felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, but, when he looked, there was nothing there.

"Maybe if I had called, you'd still be here with me." Sam felt a warm presence next to him, but he didn't see anything there.

"I named my daughter after you," Sam said, "And she's just like you," he laughed. "she loves pie, classic rock, and taking care of her little brother. It was a good name choice." The presence got a little warmer, and Sam couldn't shake the feeling, so he looked again. He turned his head sharply to look and nearly screamed. Sitting beside him, was Dean.

"Dean!"

"Woah, Samantha, calm down," Dean said, putting a hand on Sam's arm to steady him. Dean's hand was warm and solid, and if he was a ghost then it shouldn't have been warm at all. Sam's brown furrowed in confusion.

"I can see the gears turning, geekboy," Dean grinned, "What are you thinking?" Dean seemed to glow, his green eyes sparkling with mischief; his long muscular limbs stretched out and relaxed.

"Are… are you…are you a ghost?"

"Aww, Sammy are you scared I'll be a vengeful spirit?" Dean teased. "Nah, I moved on like a good little hunter."

"So why, _how_ are you here?" Sam asked.

"Lemme give you a hint," Dean sighed. He rolled his shoulders and Sam felt a puff of air behind him before a shadow covered him and warmth surrounded him. He looked behind him to find a large wing, snow white at the top but gradually turning golden at the bottom, which connected to Dean's shoulder blade. Dean just grinned at Sam's surprise.

"You're an angel," Sam gasped.

"Yahtzee!" Dean laughed. "I became a guardian angel when I died, yes. The way I understand it, people who are especially protective or guardian like when they're alive get offered the position when they die. I said yes."

"And now –"

"Now I'm taking care of people."

"Like me."

"Like you, and your family." Dean leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting the sunlight warm his face.

"So, will I ever see you again?" Sam asked quietly.

"Not all of the time, and I'm really not supposed to let it slip but…since when have I ever complied all the way with authority? Nah, you'll see me every now and then. But remember, I'm always here. All you gotta do is call out to me, even in your head, and I'll hear it." Dean looked up at Sam. "I'm gonna protect you, Sam, just like always."

"Did you…you know…hear me?" Sam asked nervously.

"Yeah, and it's okay, Sam. This was my choice, not yours." Sam found himself hugging his brother then, clinging to the warmth and love surrounding him. Dean hugged him back, his wings wrapping around the both of them. Dean rubbed Sam's back and rested his chin on Sam's head.

"It's okay, Sammy, I'm here, I'm right here.

* * *

><p>Over the years, Bobby and Deanna got used to their father going on spontaneous walks in the woods. Their mother told them that he was talking to his brother, but they knew their uncle had died years ago. They knew Sam believed in loved ones watching over their families after they passed, but it didn't make sense why he believed that when he was all about logic and reasoning. They let him go though, and when he came back he was always happier and in better spirits. Jess had accepted that he needed to go on these walks because he missed Dean and the walks made him feel closer to Dean. None of them even dreamed that Sam was actually talking to Dean, because none of them knew anything about their guardian angel.<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Deanna was eighteen that she first met Dean. She was walking home from school when some guys decided to jump her. Her dad had taught her how to fight as a precaution, so she jumped away from them and was ready to fight when a man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and quickly sent all of the boys running.<p>

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Dean," the man said, his eyes alight with laughter.

"Dean who?"

"Dean Winchester, who else?"

"My uncle is dead. He died years ago."

"Really it all depends on your definition of dead." He grinned at her.

"It was real nice to meet you, sweetheart."

And then he had disappeared, and she never told anyone what she saw.

* * *

><p>When Sam was an old man, bedridden and feeble, his children came to visit almost every day. Jess had passed away a few years prior, but it was peaceful and a little bit expected with her age. Sam flat out refused to live the remainder of his life in a hospital, once laughing that he wasn't going to die in a hospital where the nurses weren't even hot. His children didn't understand, but the happy tears in Sam's eyes made them shrug and forget about it. When they came to see him, he told them all about his adventures with Dean when the two boys were growing up. He told them about how Dean always protected Sam when they were kids and admitted that Dean wasn't even stopped by death. They were inclined to think that Sam was going a little crazy in his old age, but decided to let him have his peace until he got to see Dean again in heaven. Sam told them so much about Dean, they felt like they knew their uncle even though they'd never met him.<p>

But that all changed when Deanna, a stunning woman with attitude and looks to match her namesake, and Bobby, a man much like his father but with the research capabilities to match his namesake, walked into Sam's room to find a tall young man with dirty blond hair and sparkling green eyes sitting at the end of Sam's bed laughing with him. The man's laugh boomed and he seemed to have a sort of glow about him.

"Dad?" Bobby asked, "Who's this guy?" The man grinned, and Deanna recognized him from that afternoon all those years ago.

"This is Dean, your uncle," Sam rasped.

"My uncle is dead."

"Yes, I am," Dean said, laughing. He rolled his shoulders and two wings opened up behind him, casting a glow of their own. Bobby and Deanna jumped.

"I'm sure you've both heard of guardian angels," Dean drawled. There was much stuttering, many questions, and a lot of explaining before Dean was finally deemed not a delusion or a hallucination.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Dean started, "But it's time, Sammy."

"Time for what?" Deanna asked.

"Time for me to move on," Sam said softly.

"Jess is waiting, little brother," Dean said gently. He ran a hand through Sam's thinning white, but still long, hair. Dean's wings made a sort of half circle around them.

"I know, I'm ready," Sam said, nodding and leaning into Dean's warm touch.

"That's good to hear," a woman's voice put in. A young woman with pale skin and dark hair appeared on Sam's left.

"Tessa," Dean said, "good to see you again."

"A pleasure as always, Dean," she said, smiling.

"Tessa is a reaper," Dean told Sam.

"And Dean here is the best guardian angel I've ever met."

"Knew it," Sam grinned.

"Dean here personally escorts his charges into the next life when it's time, and he's never had a charge die from anything other than natural causes," Tessa said, smiling.

"Doesn't surprise me," Sam told her.

"Did you know that I'm the reaper who took him in the first place?"

"No…"

"Well, let me tell you, he went out with a _bang_."

"I've been dead for like, well over half a century, and that's still not funny," Dean huffed.

"But you're still cute when you're mad," Tessa grinned

"Duh, I'm always cute."

"Anyway, you ready?" she asked Sam.

"As I'll ever be." Tessa held out her hand, and Sam placed his large hand in her small one. They all watched as Sam's body gave a shudder and then relaxed, his last breath sliding between his lips. He appeared, much younger looking, beside Dean, grinning.

"So, this is death." Dean laughed at him.

"Come on, Sasquatch, we gotta go."

"Jess –"

"Is waiting for us up there with Mom and Dad and Bobby and everyone else," Dean said. Sam nodded before turning to his kids.

"Behave," he said. They nodded.

"See you around, Dean," Tessa said, waving. She disappeared quickly.

"Come on," Dean said, holding out a hand to Sam, who took it.

"Hold on tight," the elder brother warned. Then Dean's wings gave a few beats before they pulled both brothers into the air. They went through the ceiling like ghosts in a Hollywood movie, disappearing from sight but not from their minds.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, when Deanna goes for walks in the woods, she can feel someone walking beside her. Sometimes, she hears a soft chuckle. Sometimes she smells leather and gun smoke and motor oil. And sometimes, especially when she's driving her inheritance – that gorgeous '67 Chevy Impala that her father insisted upon taking excellent care of – she can hear someone singing along with the old cassette tapes she plays. Sometimes, when she's cooking, she can feel warm calloused hands moving hers along in practiced movements.<p>

And sometimes, if she turns her head fast enough in the car, she'll see him sitting in the passenger seat, watching over her with that steady and warm green gaze.

And just like always, she knows he's just coming home.

* * *

><p><strong>FIN<strong>


End file.
